


The Search for Brundle

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Family, Gen, Post-Canon, ambiguous background Asrian but this is Portia’s PoV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: When Julian became a fugitive, he gave his dog away. Driven by ulterior motives, Portia pushes him to seek her out.
Relationships: Julian Devorak & Portia Devorak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	The Search for Brundle

Portia sets down her tray of cookies and inhales their buttery smell, which mixes with the floral scents through her cottage window. She pulls in her skirt not to trip over Ilya. He’s sprawled across the floor, waving a feather duster at Pepi, who nuzzles him more than she bats at it. In the corner, Asra reads in a rocking chair, his legs tucked over its arm. The room seems to move in his gentle rhythm.

When Portia cradled Pepi through her first wobbly steps into Vesuvia, when she found this cottage abandoned and knocked down the cobwebs—it had all been for this. Ilya tickling Pepi’s cheek with a feather duster and clicking at her to take the bait.

“Is the best animal in the world having fun with Uncle Ilya?” Portia coos.

“Hold on, now,” Ilya says. “Best animal?”

“Are you saying she’s not?”

“Of course Pepi is the most perfect kitty, but, er, she’s no dog. No offense, Pepi.”

Portia gasps and bends to cover Pepi’s ears. Pepi beeps in confusion. “So, basically, what I said?”

“Hang on, what’s wrong with dogs?”  
  
If he’d wrangled Mercedes and Melchior, he wouldn’t be asking that. “They’re not cats. Or Pepi.”

“Keep up, Ilya,” Asra says.

“See? Asra gets it.”

“Oh, I’m neutral. Foxes are the best of both worlds.”

“Foxes are canines,” Ilya says, gesturing with an arm. Pepi rubs against the elbow he’s propped on.

“Have you ever even had a dog?” Portia asks Ilya. He slumps again and scratches Pepi’s neck, earning purrs.

“Never mentioned Brundle, did I? Ah, she was a good dog. Kept my patients company.”

“Aw, I didn’t know that. Is she gone?”

“Mazelinka was kind enough to find her a home when I was, ah, otherwise indisposed.” Still purring, Pepi curls up against his chest. “Her new owner’s probably a better fit. She was even lazier than a certain someone, drove me as mad as I did her.”

Asra closes his book and stops rocking. “Enough, Ilya. You loved that dog. I bet you lie awake wondering how she is, but you’re convinced you have to let her go.”

“Wait, could you have visited her?” Portia asks.

“I don’t even know where she is,” Ilya says.  
  
“So ask Mazelinka.”

Ilya mumbles an excuse. Asra sighs. “You’re scared of how she’ll react, right? Considering you abandoned her for three years.” He levels Ilya a look, which he avoids. Portia burns like she touched the cookie tray.

“I can’t believe you. You’re the same as ever,” she says. Pepi leaves Ilya to mewl at her feet. She bundles Pepi up and paces everywhere Ilya’s long legs don’t cover. “If you won’t ask about her, I will.”  
  
“Hold on, Pasha—”

“You can’t stop me!” She takes a deep breath, mind already whirring with a plan. “So, Asra, how many cookies do you think we should bring?”  
  
“Wait, I’m coming?”

“All right, all right.” Ilya rolls to his feet. “I’ll go, too.”

Portia winks at Asra in apology. Sometimes, one needs to dangle a feather duster.

* * *

Mazelinka selects dishes for the cookies and flowers they brought while the siblings huddle around her table. Portia drums her hands against it until she gets a splinter, giving Ilya an excuse to fuss. Outside, the chickens cluck, no doubt vying for Asra’s attention.

“Brundle, eh? I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner,” Mazelinka says once she’s joined them. Portia shoots Ilya a look.

“Yes, well, a lot’s gone on. Who has her? Is she all right?” he asks.

“Dunno. I gave her to an old crewmember. They were getting on in years, decided to retire and live the slow life. I figured it’d be a good match. Just getting that dog to her new home was a journey.”

Ilya laughs. “I bet. Whenever I cleaned the clinic, I ended up cleaning around her.” Smiling, he rests his cheek against his hand. It’s proof enough this is the right call.

“What’s that person’s name? Where do they live? Can we go there right now?” Portia asks.

“Slow down. I haven’t heard from them since. They didn’t want anyone tempting them with the pirate life,” Mazelinka says.

“It’s been three years! We can’t wait any longer. Besides, I’m not a pirate… yet.”

“Aye, you still need a ship.” Mazelinka grins. “But fine. I’ll give you directions to old Bronzetooth’s place, if they still go by that. And for Pete’s sake, if you plan to drop in unannounced, at least take some cookies.”

* * *

Ilya takes them down winding streets through the South End. Shortcuts, he insists when Asra questions it, but Portia redirects them.

“Putting this off won’t help,” she says.

“You heard Mazelinka, they may not want to, ah, see me…”

While he makes excuses, Portia marches up to a rickety house at the edge of town. It has enough of a lawn for a dog to recline, though only a seagull pokes around the patchy grass. Portia raps on the door and waits, her heart catching up to her feet. Ilya taps the step so much his boot could break through the wood.

Pressing an ear to the door, Portia knocks again. “Hello? Sorry to bother you. It’s a friend of a friend,” she calls. Nothing.

“I knew it. They don’t even live here anymore.” Ilya groans. “That, or they think we’re guards.”

A voice interrupts from behind them. “What’re you poking around for, Julian?”

“Maeve! Good to see you, good to see you. New dress?” Ilya hops down to sling an arm around a woman Portia recognizes from the Rowdy Raven. Asra shuffles to the side, crowding the seagull.

They catch Maeve up. “Bronzetooth, eh? Now there’s an old name,” she says. “Sorry, they moved. Got back into their, ah, line of work. Habits die hard, you know.”

Coal lodges in Portia’s chest despite Maeve’s toothy smile. Only after she hobbles away does Ilya sneer.

“See, sea dogs are all alike, this is a fool’s errand, now can we please—”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Portia says. _All alike_ , her foot.

“Can we go somewhere besides this random person’s house to figure it out?” Asra asks. He dangles the bag of cookies. “Ours now, by the way.”

They trudge back through the neighborhood, Portia no longer correcting Ilya’s random turns. The docks’ open air only makes her thoughts spin more. Water stretches all the way to the horizon, a world Portia can’t access without a boat, let alone find a lone dog. It was hard enough tracking a brother who leaves a trail.

They settle on a row of crates. Portia takes the highest one and kicks her legs over the edge.

“So, they must’ve left Brundle with someone else,” she says.

“I hate to say this, but how do we know they didn’t take Brundle with them? Or that she’s even alive?” Asra asks.

“Whose side are you on?” In response, he swipes another cookie. “Figures. Come on, Ilya, think—”

“I think Asra’s right, and also, Brundle probably hates me.”

“She can’t be dead _and_ hate you.”

“No, but…” Asra swallows his mouthful and speaks carefully. “If they did pass her along again, we don’t know how she’s handled that.”

That sours the mood, like the smell of fish permeating the docks. They listen quietly to the waves butt against everything keeping them from the shore.

“We won’t know until we know. We just need to do better detective work.” Portia wracks her brain for what the heroine of her favorite book would do. Perking up, she punches her palm. “How about we put up wanted posters?”

“I tried that once,” Ilya admits. “It, er, doesn’t work as well when your own face is on all the other posters.”

Asra snickers into his hand. Portia’s heel smacks the crate, and she hisses.

“This isn’t funny! She doesn’t know what happened. What if she thinks you’re punishing her? That you didn’t want her anymore? What if she’s still waiting for you to come back, or she ran away to look for you?”

Her face grows hot as her voice rises over the bay. Ilya stares, stricken. Asra hops down and mumbles something about asking around. Alone with her, Ilya drops his gaze to the water.

“Er, Pasha? Can I ask a dumb question?”

“Is water wet?”

“I could dunk you in and find out.” He smiles crookedly, and she swats at him. “Seriously, though. This, uh. This isn’t about Brundle, is it?”

Portia’s eyes sting. “Of course it’s about Brundle, you stupid jerk.”

She rubs her eyes to no avail. Ilya wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, stroking her hair while she hiccups. “Please don’t cry. You never did anything wrong, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry.”

She blubbers into his chest, like she’s still a child in Nevivon, and he’s still the world’s coolest brother. She doesn’t dare speak until her shaking subsides. “I just wish I knew if you were going to leave again.”

Ilya pulls back to place his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere, Pasha. I promise.” Relaxing, she wipes her face. He tweaks her ear. “Now, should we find Asra? I, uh, think he took the cookies.”

Portia feels around for the bag and comes up empty. “Oh, that—you know, that’s fair actually.”

They jump down from the crates and brush themselves off. Before they get far, Asra returns, a little breathless.

“Guys? You might want to come see this.”

* * *

Asra leads them to the other end of the docks, where Vesuvia spills out onto the beach. Just beyond the sand, a wrinkly hound puppy pulls a man along on a leash. It sniffs the air at their approach before bounding toward them.

“Aw, it’s like a tiny Brundle. Good puppy! Who’s a good puppy!” Ilya sinks to his knees and ruffles the dog’s neck. It barks and shakes its flappy ears.

“So it’s not exactly what we were looking for,” Asra says, smiling at Portia in apology. “But it’s awful cute.” She can’t disagree.

The man, amused and grateful they’re keeping his puppy busy, explains he got it from an elderly woman on the ritzier side of town. “She might still have a few.”

Portia gasps. “Did you hear that, Ilya?”

They both look at Asra. “We might as well see the hounds we know about,” he says.

“New case: Vesuvian hound tour,” Portia says. After saying goodbye to the puppy and its human, they all scramble off.

They slow down by the time they weave through the Heart District’s marketplace and stroll into a merchant neighborhood. The sun drapes a pink shawl behind the now visible palace. Just before it sets, they find the address the man gave them. On the lawn, a woman with a cozy sweater and sagging cheeks sits in a wicker chair. Shuffling noises come from the box in front of her.

Portia rushes over to investigate. A single puppy sits on a blanket, even tinier than the other hound. It raises a mushed face to stare at her with wide, droopy eyes.

“Oh, what a darling."

“You would be the first to say so,” the woman says. “That runt’s the only one left.”

Carefully, Portia lowers a hand into the box. The puppy headbutts it and yaps softly. “But it’s so sweet.”

“She’s yours, if you want. Her mom doesn’t give me trouble, but a puppy is a bit much for these bones.”

Portia looks over her shoulder at Ilya, who stands at the lawn’s edge, his arms crossed tight and his jaw slack. She follows his gaze to the house’s shade. A larger hound rests there, her head in her paws and one ear hanging like a curtain over her eye.

“Brundle?” Ilya whispers.

“Ah, yes,” the woman says. “It is about time for her walk, but she just had dinner, so she’ll be napping until—”

“Until after sunset.” He laughs, quiet and wet. The woman lowers her sunglasses.

“Do I know you?”

Portia cuts in with an explanation. Asra kneels to play with the puppy, though one of his eyes is trained on Ilya.

“I promise I didn’t want to leave her,” Ilya says. The coal in Portia’s chest dislodges.

“It sounds like quite a story. Well, don’t worry, she seems happy enough.” The woman calls behind her, “Brundle, your old friend is here.”

Ilya hasn’t moved further onto the lawn. He mumbles something about letting her rest, but Portia elbows his leg. Stirring, Brundle shakes her ear out of her wrinkly face and gives the woman a withering look. Ilya takes a few wobbly steps and kneels in front of her, just out of her space.

“Hey, pretty lady. Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep.” He peels off a glove and offers his branded hand. She noses around it half-heartedly. Her sniffs become more vigorous before she licks the sweat off of his palm. Teary, he lets her. “Atta girl.”

He shuffles closer, and she rests her chin in his hand, closing her eyes.

Her own eyes stinging again, Portia looks between Ilya and the puppy in Asra’s lap. At her suggestion, he carries the puppy over to Ilya. Brundle whuffs as the puppy tries to climb out of Ilya’s arms and up his shoulder, licking at any part of his face that gets close enough.

“Ooh, my little princess, my grandpup,” he says. It’s not the certain rhythm from Portia’s cottage, but her chest feels light.

“You might as well keep her in the family,” the woman says. “Who is taking her, then?”

“I already have the perfect pet,” Portia says. Everyone looks at Ilya, who mocks a few protests.

“Not afraid of commitment, are you, Ilya?” Asra asks. Red-faced, Ilya splutters.

“You’re one to… Ah, miss? Lovely sweater, by the way. Would you mind if I visited Brundle again? I’d hate to impose.”

“If you keep calling me miss, then I don’t mind.”

“Fantastic. And don’t worry, I’ll take good care of the little girl. Always.”

“You’d better,” Portia says. “And you have to bring her to play with Pepi.”

“Of course. Then we can settle our cats versus dogs debate.”

“That’s already settled.”

“Brundle might want a vote,” Asra says.

She only lowers her head again, and Portia considers that a victory.


End file.
